At a Blue Jay’s game recently, I had the opportunity to be entertained by a semi-professional heckler. He didn’t come awake until the sixth inning, which is why I knocked his certification down a notch. I don’t know what caused the sudden awakening. The only explanation I can think of is somehow connected to the amber liquid in his sippy cup. It must have jolted him awake. It gave him liquid courage to preach to his congregation.
And preach he did.
He had much to say, and kept repeating worn out phrases over, and over again. To his credit, he kept it respectable and clean. His biggest target was outfielder Jose Bautista and his incentive driven contract.
I am not sure how others felt about him. I can imagine that some fans must have been a bit annoyed, but to the contrary, I was highly amused.
His best line of the evening came late in the game when he told a Cleveland player that he wasn’t half the man his mother was.
I am still laughing at the absurdity of the idea. Why is it that I never grew up, and can’t help but smile at such a silly contradictions? Why does it bring so much joy to my being?
Thank God for hecklers.
I only wish we were capable of taking our own hecklers a little less seriously. Or that they were a little bit funnier. Or just funny to begin with.
There are many critics in our life. The most notorious and belligerent one takes up residence inside our head.
Maybe having and developing a sense of humour is the key to it all.
I sometimes wonder if Jesus could tell a good joke, because it makes life a little bit easier. It is very difficult to laugh and cry at the same time.
Things seem to hurt less when you are laughing.
Bitter pills are far more easily swallowed if you’re half the man your mother is.
